


Everlasting Touch

by TheDeadAreWalking



Series: Our Imprints [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Sensual Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-22
Updated: 2019-02-22
Packaged: 2019-11-03 15:16:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17880197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDeadAreWalking/pseuds/TheDeadAreWalking
Summary: Memories of quick hands, soft words, and even softer lips flicked through his mind at the thought of him. Bruce should feel ashamed, more ashamed than he did.





	Everlasting Touch

**Author's Note:**

> So this took me almost a year to finish. I actually wrote all of it only weeks after the first part but never got around to finishing the ending. I finished today, on the day Jeremiah died. 
> 
> -
> 
> This takes place before the final season in some alternate universe.

Bruce wasn't sure why he went, it very well may have been a trap but the lack of threats said otherwise. He had awoken to the note on his bedside table and tried not to think about who put it there and how they got in. The letter contained nothing but an address located in The Narrows. Bruce had immediately recognized the handwriting and felt a flush crawl across his skin.

Memories of quick hands, soft words, and even softer lips flicked through his mind at the thought of him. Bruce should feel ashamed, more ashamed than he did. He should have left the warehouse and went to the police station but instead, he ambled home and laid in bed for hours replaying the memories of Jeremiah's too gentle touches.

It would be his luck a criminally insane psychopath would fall for him. Even more, so that he wasn't disgusted by the idea.

Alfred knew something was amiss, he didn't ask if it was personal or dealt with his 'night time activities' but he could tell Bruce had been off kilter. He can only imagine the shock and disgust on his face if he knew what Jeremiah and he had done in the dark.

But he couldn't think about that now. He had an address and despite everything in his body telling him not to go he couldn't help but move his body to the exact spot Jeremiah wanted him. He couldn't resist the urge. He wonders if Jeremiah would come for him if he asked. He wonders if Jeremiah would get himself help for him.

Would he want that?

The answer to his own question makes him sick.

Bruce glances down that the paper and back up to confirm he's at the right spot, it couldn't be. The billionaire glanced around the empty sidewalk littered with trash as if expecting armed gunman to attack but nothing. Bruce glanced up at the building. He can't believe he didn't recognize the address sooner, it's the same warehouse Jeremiah had taken him to last time.

Only this time he came on his own volition, he doesn't think that makes the situation any better.

Bruce slowly stepped forward to open the warehouse door with one last glance at the outside world and the constant cloud covered skies of Gotham and stepped into the small decrepit reception center. The air felt just as heavy last time but now he felt anticipation thick within it. Bruce opened a door that he knew led to the area he was held last time.

He remembers Jeremiah standing shakily and pressing the lightest kiss to the side of his face before leaving. Bruce had shuddered before clasping over himself and sobbing before finally stumbling out of the building. Now he was back.

The room was empty now, the chair that he sat in was gone and nothing else seemed to be there. He closed the door slowly and turned, for the first time noticing a stairwell that led to a second floor.

He cautiously approached the steps and listened, straining his ears to pick up any sounds of life in the building. He couldn't hear a thing but the gentle rain that had started falling outside. Slowly Bruce pulled himself up the stairs until he reaches the second floor.

He glanced down the hallway, the floors were surprisingly less dirty up here. It looked as if someone had taken care to make it as clean as possible without raising suspicion. Bruce had a sneaking suspicion he knew who.

He let his feet walk on their own, past the closed doors that lined the hall to the only door open. He slowly lifted a hand pushed the door open.

He wasn't sure what he had expected to find but a bedroom wasn't it.

His eyes were closed. Chest lazily rising and falling. He laid across the bed looking the perfect picture for contentment. Without opening his eyes Jeremiah spoke, "I wasn't sure you'd come."

Bruce swallowed thickly, shame now once again making his breathing labored, "I wasn't sure myself," Bruce let his eyes slide around the room, taking it all in as quickly as he could. Everything about the room looked seemed off. The grey peeling walls starkly contrasted the large rug, ornate chair, and bed placed in the room, "Do you live here?"

Jeremiah opened a single eye to glance at him, "Sometimes. Is that really what you want to be asking me right now, Bruce?"

Bruce shivered at the question, he forgot how cold Jeremiah could sound, "I guess not. Why'd you ask me back?"

"Because I wanted to see what you would do," Jeremiah mused, "So far you aren't disappointing me."

Bruce looked behind him, nothing was prevented him from leaving but as his eyes roamed over Jeremiah's relaxed figure he couldn't help but take a step farther into the room. He felt like he was signing away his soul. Jeremiah heard him shuffle closer and smiled, Bruce couldn't help but think he looked so nice, spread out, blazer gone and showcasing his waistcoat, "And what are you hoping to gain tonight?"

"Well," Jeremiah sighed, head falling to the side to openly look at Bruce, "That's up to you."

"Me?" Bruce answered, recoiling slightly.

Jeremiah chuckled, "Yes, last time I played on my terms but now it's up to you. Nothing is going to stop you from leaving," he whispered, "or getting anything else you want."

Bruce felt sweat start to accumulate around his body, skin flushed with fear, anger, embarrassment, anticipation, and something he didn't want to name. He didn't know it was possible to feel this much towards one person. He wasn't sure when it had happened but he was far closer to the bed than he was moments ago, "I want you to come with me to Arkham. I want to get you help, Jeremiah," Bruce reached for his hand.

Jeremiah pulled it out of reach, "Maybe some things are off the table."

"Then I'm leaving," Bruce retorted, attempting to stand tall.

Jeremiah was silent for several moments, "Fine, Bruce. If that's what you want to do I won't stop you."

Bruce turned to leave but his body wouldn't listen. He'd felt at odds with himself since their time at the warehouse. He had no control over his body, he felt possessed. Bruce lowered himself onto the edge of the bed and felt the warmth of Jeremiah's legs against him, "I hate you."

"I'm sure you do," Jeremiah whispered, "but I wonder if you feel anything else," Bruce felt him shift until he was sitting upright, warm body pressed again Bruce's side, "aren't you tired of our dance? Just let go, Bruce. No one will know, no one ever has to know."

Bruce shivered at the bare hand stroking the side of his arm before quickly dropping away. Bruce saw Jeremiah lay back down, "What do you feel for me?"

The question hung heavy in the air for so long Bruce thought he'd possibly imagined asking it but eventually, Jeremiah spoke up, "Everything. I feel so much for you, Bruce. Everything I do or have done has been for you. I would do anything for you."

"Except get help," Bruce choked out. He wasn't sure when his throat had closed and was acutely aware of the tears falling down his face now.

"I don't need help," the answer was so quiet he could have missed it. It sounded so much like how Jeremiah once had, it felt like a distant ghost.

"Move over," Bruce commanded. Jeremiah hesitated for a moment before shifting over on the bed. Bruce's body sank down into the bed until he laid next to Jeremiah.

As ridiculous as it sounded, this felt like the most intimate thing they had done.

Neither said a word, you could hear the dust settling in the room and the low rumble of their breathing. Bruce was silent out of fear of what would spill from his mouth and Jeremiah out of curiosity. Bruce cautiously reached to take Jeremiah's too cold hand. He rested their joint hands between them, "What if we left?"

The bed shook with laughter. Bruce could feel tears welling in his eyes again, "Could you really leave? Leave your precious city?"

Instead of answering, Bruce rolled himself over to look at the older man. Jeremiah's eyes gazed lazily up at the ceiling, he looked completely at ease but Bruce could see the slight irregular rise and fall of his chest. He was just as uncomfortable and confused as Bruce felt. He finally rolled his face to look at Bruce, he watched his eyes trace the tracks left from the tears freely falling down his face, "Convince me."

Jeremiah blinked at him, "The great Bruce Wayne fleeing with me?"

"You said anything I want, I want you to convince me," Bruce spoke softly, he feared anything louder and the room would shatter around them.

Jeremiah lifted a hand to his face and wiped the remaining tears away, "Could Gotham go on without you?"

Bruce leaned into the touch, "I think Gotham stands a better chance with us gone," Jeremiah shifted closer. He realized he too had moved closer, now only an inch separated them. Bruce felt like he was once again standing on the edge of an abyss. His whole life he had been afraid of what lurked at the bottom and had tried to fight off the urge to just fall forward and see what awaited him, but for finally he didn't feel scared. He felt calm, "Convince me."

Jeremiah said nothing else as he pulled Bruce forward and their mouths slowly melded. Bruce was again intoxicated with the alluring taste of gunpowder. Unlike last time, he felt nothing but relief as Jeremiah moved their mouths together leisurely. The taste and feel of him did nothing but make him sink farther into the mattress.

Before he realized it, Jeremiah had rolled them over. The pressure of the man above him should have felt threatening but it didn't, he reached shaking hands to undo buttons of the killer's waistcoat and shirt. Jeremiah trailed his mouth along the line of his neck and letting his teeth graze the skin as he went. 

Bruce finally finished undoing Jeremiah's buttons and the man leaned back to throw the clothes off. The vigilante felt the weight of his body settle against his lower body and he arched up as his eyes raked over the porcelain-like skin on full view to him. Bruce felt himself harden at the erotic sight, this felt forbidden like he was seeing something no one had.

Had anyone?

Jeremiah caught his eyes and seemed to read his mind, "Not like this. Never like this for anyone," Jeremiah lowered himself over Bruce again but remained lifted on his arms. Bruce cautious raised a hand to touch the expanse of skin above him. Jeremiah drew in a sharp breath when Bruce touched his waist, fingers digging in and feeling the skin he'd dreamed of. The man above him quaked as Bruce ran his hands across as much skin as possible before lightly gazing his nipples, feeling them harden.

Jeremiah took his hands away, "I'm supposed to be the one convincing you, right?" Bruce nodded, words didn't feel right, "Then let me work."

Jeremiah moved with lightning speed, undoing and ripping Bruce's shirt off and slipping his pants off. Bruce felt like a rag doll being tossed around so quickly until he was left only in boxers, "Slow down," he croaked out.

Jeremiah's eyes snapped up from where they had been darting around his skin, unable to find somewhere to rest. His eyes looked wild and frantic as he whined out, "Bruce."

Bruce shuddered at the desperate way Jeremiah said his name. The older man settled atop him again, mouths sliding together as the younger ran his hands through green hair feeling it fall from its combed shape into something more natural and Jeremiah danced his hands along the side of his chest. Bruce arched as the fingers moved to tease the waistline of his boxers.

Jeremiah moved down slowly stopping for a moment to run his mouth over Bruce's nipples. Smirking as Bruce gasped and arched under his tongue before continuing lower. Jeremiah pressed a kiss along the thin line of hair that trailed below his boxers, "You're beautiful."

Bruce covered his mouth to stop the embarrassing sounds from leaving his mouth as Jeremiah covered his clothed cock with his mouth. The moist, wet heat soaked to his skin when Jeremiah pulled back. His hands drifted along the top of his boxer. "Up," he mumbled, "I want to see all of you."

Bruce nodded before pausing, "You first."

Jeremiah watched him and then nodded. He placed a lingering kiss below Bruce's navel and stood. Bruce watched completely enrapt at the ivory skin on full display. Jeremiah carefully undid his pants and shucked them away. Bruce saw him straining against his underwear and felt himself twitch, "Where will we go?"

Bruce swallowed, "You haven't convinced me yet."

Jeremiah waved him off, "Hypothetically, where would we go?"

Bruce hadn't given it any thought. He didn't care where. Maybe somewhere with sunshine. Sun, lack laws, and a poor police force. He hated himself for thinking it, "I don't know. Where do you want to go?"

Jeremiah pulled his underwear off. Bruce's eyes drifted and steadied on his hard cock, its bright red tip looking odd against his otherwise pale skin, "Somewhere we can be ourselves. I want to see you for who you really. Do you want that?" Jeremiah settled back over Bruce and pulled his black undergarments off. Bruce's dick sprung free and slapped obscenely against his stomach. Jeremiah curled a hand around him and brought the tip to his parted lips, "You do want that don't you, Bruce?"

Bruce arched and whined, "Yes." Jeremiah closed his mouth over him and Bruce thinks he saw stars. He clamped a hand over the murder's head and cried out. Jeremiah sucked and licked all over his cock. Jeremiah pulled away and Bruce tightened his grip, "Don't."

"Hush," Jeremiah kissed back up his body until he covered him again, "I'm not leaving. Just getting something."

Jeremiah leaned over and pulled something from under the pillow. Bruce heated when he realized what it was. Jeremiah kissed his neck again and breathed out, "Do you still want me?"

"Stop asking," Bruce gritted out. Jeremiah chuckled and Bruce wondered for how many people that was the last sound they heard. He wondered if the same was true for himself. The cap of the bottle was opened and Bruce felt a cool finger against him, "Fuck."

"Soon, my dearest," Jeremiah purred and pushed his finger in farther. Bruce'd never felt something like this. He wouldn't say it was pleasant but so far nothing about it was unpleasant, just odd. He felt exposed. A second finger joined and then a third. Bruce tried to control his breathing as they worked in and out of him. Jeremiah was watching him eyes dark and glazed over, "I dream about this. About taking you apart from the inside out." 

A cold shiver ran through the younger man. The things he thought about were no more pleasant something's. Sometimes a small part of his brain whispered at him how easy it would be to stop criminals if he just brought a knife. How easily he could slide it across the former ginger's neck. Jeremiah sharply twisted his hand and Bruce arched with a choked cry. Something close to lightening ran through him body, 

"Thinking pleasant thoughts of me I hope," Jeremiah mumbled against his lips. 

"Hurry up," Bruce cried out. 

Jeremiah pulled his fingers out and left Bruce yearning for anything to take their place, "What's the magic word?"

"Now."

Jeremiah smirked, "Close enough." Jeremiah lined himself up and paused, "Last chance to leave."

Last chance. Bruce knew this wasn't his last chance. His last chance was thrown away when he walked into this building. Maybe even sooner. Maybe his last chance drifted by when Jeremiah tied him to a chair and he let it happen. No this, this was inevitable. This was a long time coming. 

"I'm not going," Bruce breathed out and Jeremiah pushed forward and God, it was too much. 

It was too slow. Jeremiah always treated him like he was something special and made of glass when they were like this. He hated him. He hated him so much. 

Jeremiah groaned and rested his head on the Bruce shoulder. Bruce raised trembling arms to grasp his forearms and then he was moving. Jeremiah pulled out just enough to have Bruce teetering and then pushed back. 

Bruce wasn't aware of anything put the push and pull of their bodies, the slide of mouths together, and the awful words, promises, confessions drifting between them. 

Bruce felt Jeremiah's movements shuttered and could feel himself getting closer every time Jeremiah drifted over the spot inside him. A hand curled around his cock and pulled in time with his thrusts. 

Bruce wouldn't last much longer and he could tell Jeremiah was reaching the end, too. Through gritted teeth he growled out a finale confession. 

"I hate you."

Jeremiah smiled against his ear and they came together to the sound of thunder and rain falling outside, "I know."

And then Bruce fell off and into the abyss.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was something that needed to be finished. I leave so much unfinished in my life that it feels good to finish this even if it's just a 2k fanfic. This is the end of this story and there won't be a part three. 
> 
>  
> 
> Please leave a comment because this is something I'd love to hear feed back on.


End file.
